


the song of forgetting

by epoenine



Category: Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Depression, M/M, Mention of - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 15:56:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1020577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epoenine/pseuds/epoenine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Benvolio will forget what is lost. He’ll wonder where the warmth has gone on a Sunday morning, and why these sheets are so damn cold? Where is the shampoo that should be sitting next to his own? Where are the mismatched socks? Where is the green toothbrush? Where is it? Where is it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	the song of forgetting

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by a quote on tumblr

Sometimes, Benvolio will forget what is lost. He’ll wonder where the warmth has gone on a Sunday morning, and why are these sheets so damn cold? Where is the shampoo that should be sitting next to his own? Where are the mismatched socks? Where is the green toothbrush? Where is it? Where is it?

Benvolio will be sitting on the couch, watching the evening news with takeout sitting on the coffee table, and he’ll be wondering, who the hell is letting him watch the news? Why isn’t there someone here to demand a Harry Potter marathon?

On occasion, Benvolio will cry, and he’ll wonder why he’s even crying. Doesn’t he have everything he wants?

An ache will settle in the space between his ribs and he’ll cry like there’s no tomorrow, or there’s not reason for tomorrow, because Mercutio is gone.

And what can he do, with Mercutio gone? Who will he tell his stories to? Who will he be told stories by? No one, he supposes. Not anymore.

It’s not like he’s forgetful all of the time. He remembers to pay the electricity bill and remembers to pay rent. Pick up milk from the store. Do a load of laundry. Except remember, Benvolio, you can’t wash the dark blue jacket draped over the back of the kitchen chair. If you do, it’ll lose the smell of cigarettes and the lost shampoo. We wouldn’t want that, now, would we?

He’s so lonely. Not the kind of lonely that you get at 4 in the morning, or the kind when you’re left home alone while someone goes out and buys pizza.

It’s more like waking up and not remembering who you are. Drowning in the middle of the ocean by yourself. Feeling the lingering touch of someone who is no longer there. That’s what this kind of loneliness is.

And sometimes it’s so overwhelming that Benvolio has to stop whatever he’s doing. While he’s walking in the middle of the grocery store. Pull the car over while he’s driving. Get out of bed while he’s sleeping because he can’t breathe, he can’t force the air into his lungs anymore.

Most times he’s leaning against the counter while the pale morning light shines through the curtains, and while he’s waiting for his tea, he remembers.

He remembers what it was like with Mercutio here--the apartment never silent, pancakes demanded almost every morning. He remembers everything and it all comes flooding at him at once and he misses it so much.

Benvolio misses him and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!


End file.
